


Puss in Boots

by S_Faith



Category: Bridget Jones's Diary - All Media Types
Genre: F/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-08-23
Updated: 2009-08-23
Packaged: 2019-11-24 00:56:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,659
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18159323
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/S_Faith/pseuds/S_Faith
Summary: Bridget's good at being more than just a bunny girl.





	Puss in Boots

**Author's Note:**

> *innocent whistle*
> 
> Disclaimer: HF would have a conniption fit if she knew the contortions I was twisting her dolls into.

He should have guessed something was up when he entered the house and every light on the first floor was turned off. The only light he could discern was one coming from the upper floor. He called her name; he could hear her calling his in return.

_What the hell is she up to?_ he thought. They were due to be at the party by seven.

He scaled the stairs, expecting fully to find her styling her hair or applying her makeup whilst still in her robe. What he did not expect was to find her as she was:

She was sheathed in what appeared to be black leather, a form fitting halter top that came down past her waist as well as a miniskirt. Coming up almost to the bottom of that skirt was a pair of shiny black boots with the heels so high she was nearly nose to nose with him. On her arms were long black leather gloves. She had a devilish smile on her face.

To say he was speechless was an understatement, but somehow he found his voice. "Bridget," he managed. "The party."

"As you can see," she said, "I'm ready to go." She strode forward, her lips pursed in an impish smile, one eyebrow cocked. "What do you think?"

"I think I'd rather my wife not go in public without any clothes on," he said, his voice papery.

She giggled in a very bubbly way. "Oh, Mark. Very funny. I'll put on my ears and tail and then worry about getting you ready." She walked over to the bureau and picked up something he could not quite discern.

_Ears? Tail?_ Confused, he asked, "What kind of bunny are you this time?"

At this she laughed out loud; the way she leaned slightly forward, her head thrown slightly back, set his heart to racing. "Not bunny. Cat. As in Catwoman. Remember the big fuss about your costume being something tolerable?" He did recall telling her he refused to wear anything he would generally consider ridiculous; she had mentioned a nice suit and the name 'Bruce Wayne'. She grinned again, slipping on the cat ears, then turning to wiggle her backside at him, holding up a long strip of furry fabric. "Care to pin my tail on for me?"

Much to his chagrin, he was too distracted by the bare strip of creamy skin between the bottom of the skirt and the top of the boot, just where her leg began to curve up into her bottom, to reply. _Very short skirt_ , he thought.

"Well?" she asked, looking back over her shoulder. "Tail please?"

He walked up close to her, but instead of taking the tail in his hand, he ran his fingers up the back of her leg, to the bottom hem of her skirt and just under. "I don't know how I feel about anyone else having improper thoughts about you," he said.

"Mark, it's Halloween," she said. "It's a costume."

"You still have a rather bare arse under this skirt."

As his fingers went higher up under her skirt to brush the skin there, searching for the edge of her pants, he heard her catch her breath. "Mark."

"Just checking to see if you have—"

"I do have pants on," she said somewhat defensively, even as she sighed a little. "You're naughty."

"And you're bloody sexy in this costume," he said, leaving one hand on her arse, and bringing the other around to splay on her stomach. "I don't know how I would be expected to retain a modicum of decorum when all I can think about is you in those boots… and that skirt…" He trailed off, bending to press his lips to her neck before taking the lobe gently between his teeth. She leaned back against him, resting her head on his shoulder, which afforded him better access to the side of her throat. His hand slid around from her arse to the front of her skirt, lifting slowly, teasing her thighs with his fingers.

"What makes you think," she began, her voice a rough whisper but regaining strength as she continued, "I'm going to make it that easy?" She pushed herself forward and away from him, turning to face him with sparkling eyes and another wicked grin. "I've been looking forward to this party for two months now." He knew she was teasing. At least he hoped so.

He stepped forward. She wielded her tail like a whip playfully.

"Bridget," he said authoritatively, "is a party more important than your very eager husband?"

"Halloween only happens once a year," she said; she was trying to be serious but she couldn't manage to hide her grin. "My very eager husband can have me any time he wants." He took one more step; she flicked the tail at him like a whip again. "Where are your manners?"

His eyebrows raised. "You're quite the feisty cat."

She mimed baring her fangs before smiling again.

"You did say your very eager husband can have you 'anytime he wants'," he continued, approaching her again. She backed up carefully (those were some pretty steep-heeled boots) before she got to the corner, and could not back up any further. Reaching for her hand, he relieved her of the tail whip, then grabbed her wrists and stepped her back against the wall. "That's an invitation if ever I heard one. Very little wiggle room there."

"Bloody lawyer," she said.

"Mm," he said. "Especially since he wants his wife right now."

"Better go get her then," Bridget teased, moving her head out of the way to evade his kiss. It was no matter to him, though, as he was quite content for his lips to meet her throat. He leaned forward, grinding his hips into her.

"Mark," she said It was a feeble protest at best, especially since he grazed his teeth along her skin. He could feel her arching into him; if her intent was to try to push him off of her, it was not working to deter him. Quite the opposite.

"If I let go of your wrists," he murmured into her ear, "you're not going to claw me, are you?" 

He heard an amused sound come out of her. "Only if you want me to."

He laughed low in his throat, rearing his head back to look into her eyes. He released her wrists, then immediately slipped his hands over her backside and between her legs. Her lids fell and she swayed on her feet a little; her gloved arms came up and around his neck, her leather-clad fingers running through his hair, before trailing down his chest to the waistband of his trousers.

The leather of her gloves was not so thick as to impede dexterity; she flipped open the trouser button and tugged the zip down. With a quick movement she slipped his trousers then his boxers down before reaching to traced her fingers along his very erect self. The feel of the leather on him was surprisingly arousing, and in reflex he thrust his hips forward.

"And here I thought Bruce Wayne was a goody-goody," she teased as his lips were about to touch hers again.

"Shows what you know," he replied before kissing her.

In concert with his hands lifting up her arse, she wrapped her legs around him. He leaned forward, pressing her up against the wall. The soft leather against his forearm, against the skin of his leg, made him groan a little. He brought his fingers down between her legs, causing her to gasp as he shifted and pushed aside her lacy pants. He then drove up into her. His name escaped her as a strangled cry.

He held onto her arse, her legs, as he thrust forward again and again, feeling like he was crushing her between himself and the wall, but from the guttural sounds and disconnected syllables of what he presumed were English words coming from her, she was rather enjoying this form of punishment. His legs were aching from the force of his movement, from holding her up, but he only felt that ache in a distant sort of way; all he was aware of was her, how she made him feel, and how he was making her feel by the way she was responding. The backs of her boots were pushing hard into him with every arch up into him; her breathing was hard and unsteady; her cries were unrestrained and ecstatic.

From the heightened pitch of her voice he knew she was close to coming; hearing her voice like that, feeling her gloved fingers on his lower back, feeling her hot breath on his cheek, was enough to trigger his own release. A growl emanated from low in his throat as he tensed, thrusting up into her, trembling with sensation. He was rewarded in turn; her grip on him tightened as she bucked up into him. His hands slid to her bottom again and squeezed her up against him, causing her to moan even as she smiled.

"Ohh, love," she said with a raspy voice. "You were right."

Ensuring she was secure in his arms, he walked her over to the bed, then sat down with her on his lap, holding her close, plying her with tender kisses again as he laid the both of them back onto the pillow. There was a dissonance of senses: the smooth yet buttery soft leather, the velvety linens of the bed, her tender kisses as he trailed his fingers from boot to thigh to skirt before holding her close to him.

"I'm always right," he murmured, teasing her lightly. 

She chuckled. "So, Mr Wayne," she said, "do you think you can stand attending a party with the notorious Catwoman without pouncing on her in the loo?"

He pretended to think about it for a moment or two before saying decidedly: "No."

_The end._

**Author's Note:**

> [The boots](http://www.lullabydream.it/images/pleaserusa/domina-3000_blackhsiny.jpg) and [the leather outfit](http://dianasnoveltease.com/images/AL13-110.jpg). Trés sexy!


End file.
